


It Will Get Worse

by rustywrites



Category: Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Creepy, Gen, Horror, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustywrites/pseuds/rustywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He only comes when you think about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Get Worse

He only comes when you think about him.

At first, you’ll barely notice – that ominous feeling has been creeping up on you for days now and it’s probably nothing. New house, new sounds, new drafts and breezes that rattle the flimsy plastic blinds and make the doors creak and open and close on their own. Childish things that make you pause before you exhale and tense before you turn around. Probably nothing. Hopefully nothing.

You won’t feel him watching you, not yet. You won’t see him either. You’ll wake in the night, startled by that uncomfortable sensation, like you’re not alone, and the familiar shadows in the corners of your eyes will suddenly be a little more sinister (a little more alive). Sleep won’t come easily anymore.

Not long after, you’ll catch your first glimpse. You’ve been thinking about him for too long now, even without realizing it, and he’s starting to reeeeach out. You’ll see him on the edge of your vision – just a shapeless thing that’s Not Supposed To Be There and you’ll freeze with your heart in your ears and your stomach in your throat until he fades away. Maybe he was never there at all.

It will get worse.

You’ll come home to find him watching, solid and whole, from your back yard by the fence, near the naked autumn trees. At first you’ll think that he’s a neighbor or a friend – it’s daylight after all and he’s never been so clear – but you’ll realize something is wrong when the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end. When you notice that his limbs are crooked and much too long. When you notice that he doesn’t have a face. You’ll draw the blinds and fight off tears. You’ll think about calling the police, but you won’t. You can’t.

Your new house will seem so much darker, so much stranger when you stop opening the shades all together.

Your friends will start to worry when they catch you looking over your shoulder more than ahead, but you won’t tell them that he’s there, right now, too thin and too tall in his pitch black suit and his pale empty face just across the street near the trees. Watching. You won’t tell them because you know if they notice, they’ll be next.

You’ll ask him what he wants, after months and months of watching and watching and watching. You haven’t seen the sun in weeks and haven’t been outside in longer. He’s always there now. You’re beginning think that maybe he always has been (and always will be). He has no mouth and no voice to speak but his answer will come. It will sound like snapping branches and crunching leaves. No words, no questions. You understand as much as you don’t. Nice things, but sounding so mean. Angry things.

You’re beginning to give up.

His hands are cold and much too long. They dig into your skin like brambles and thorns. More than two. So many arms. This close you can see the thin stretch of his notskin across his notskull where his noteyes and his notmouth should have been. You’ll realize your ears are ringing and then you won’t realize anything at all.

The friends you tried to spare will mourn you. They’ll look for you until they can’t look anymore. They won’t find you. Maybe one of them will find Something, though, as they rifle through the once-loved things in your home collecting dust. Maybe one of them will see something in the corner of their eye and say “Who’s there?” only to be answered by the sound of creaking twigs and leaves blowing across cement. Maybe one of them will wake that night with their heart pounding, swearing that they’re no longer alone.

He only comes when you think about him.


End file.
